Can You See the Dark? Can You Hear the Silence?
by ForeverNeverlander
Summary: Myriam, a suburban girl who has nothing else to lose. Dean, a man who wants nothing but to have someone who understands. Olivia, country girl with a contagious smile. Sam, a boy who doesn't know the meaning of love. Both boys have finally found their end in this world of demons and vampires. Yet, what is left is the story. And it doesn't begin with the end. (SamXOC) (DeanXOC)


Chapter 1: Myriam

**Please consider that Dean is not as old as he is in the series. In this story, Dean is 25. I do not own anything pertaining to Supernatural. **

The arm was severed at the elbow, badly bleeding onto the white pearly sheets. Seeing the crimson ringlets leaking in rivers from the bed, Myriam felt the usual shiver of inactivity crawl up her spine. The patient was yelling, but her ears refused to register the awfully loud octaves. Her trembling hands went for the arm, but the patient was moving too much. His screams of agony only sent her mind spiraling into more and more numbness. All she was able to hear was the vague, nebulous talking of the other nurses around her.

She felt a cold hand on her shoulder, the feeling seeping into her skin. Her eyes glided slowly from the horror to the face of Martine. "Myriam, scalpel please."

The voice felt bizarre in her ears, but the young woman accepted the order. Turning from the bed, the girl grabbed the demanded tool and handed it back to her fellow nurse. She watched as Martine severed the rest of the skin hanging from already clotting blood. She was telling the patient that he was going to have to live the rest of his life without a right arm. Myriam wanted to laugh.

The irony. Didn't the boy know he had just been amputated? She giggled silently, watching the agonized face of the amputated boy pinch and clench.

"Step out, Myriam," Martine said, giving the motionless girl a sideways glance. Everything was read in that simple look. The older nurse thought evidently that Myriam was unable to perform her job.

"I'll stay," answered Myriam, sizing up the situation once more. She went over the things in her head. Blood, opened arteries, veins. The boy needed morphine.

Martine was surprised to see the young nurse bolt into action, opening the cabinet and grabbing a needle and transparent veil. "Morphine," stated Myriam, "dosage?"

After the morphine had been given and the patient was inert on the bed, it was easier to wrap his injured arm. The blood had slowed, his heart rate had regulated, and the most important part was that his screams had faded. Only the remnants of his previous shouts still stayed on re-play in the young girl's mind. The horrible octaves of his screams had burned her ear-drums.

She walked out of the ER after washing her hands. Her skin was raw from scrubbing, her head was numb from the screaming, and her hands still shook. As she walked to the reception hall, she grabbed papers from her mailbox. Something felt different by the way she heard the other nurses cat calling and whistling. Had a young man stepped into the hospital? All the nurses would start their kitty calls once a good looking man walked by, and it was the usual for Myriam to just smile and brush it off.

Albeit the previous situation, she smirked and walked into the reception hall. Eve was sitting at the desk, smiling and typing on her computer. Beside her, Cally was standing and smiling at a man who had their backed turned. Behind him, Emma and Mary were pointing and whispering.

"Hey rookie!" someone yelled, getting Myriam's attention. The latter looked to Cally, who was waving her over.

Myriam hesitated. She had once promised herself to never get involved with patients, or family of patients. It was rules of the hospital, but the nurses often neglected them. However, a feeling in her stomach lurched out and dragged her to the reception desk. A feeling unknown to her before. Instinct?

As she got closer, she noticed the man was wearing a beige leather coat over his broad shoulders, navy blue jeans, and a pair of Converse. Her eyes darted to his hair; clean cutted and sandy blond. A rush to run her fingers through his hair invaded her, and she resisted the urge to bite her lip.

"Mi, this is Dean, a friend of the amputated patient," Cally declared, her clear blue eyes dancing and glistening. Myriam quirked a brow and nodded slowly.

The said Dean turned and smirked at the girl, giving a slight flutter to her stomach. His eyes, a mixture of green and brown, glowed in the hospital lighting. His skin, the color of melted honey, shone from an obvious tan. Furthermore, his lips, full and pink as a grapefruit, stretched into a wolfish grin as his mischievous eyes scanned her up and down. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her blue nurse overall and her black hair tied in a messy not atop her head.

Realizing hit her like a brick to the face. He was _that _kind of guy. Every neighborhood had one. The type of guy who walked with shoulders out and chest stuck out. A guy who held a girl for a night and pretended he didn't know her the next day. The guy who smirked like he had the world in the palm of his hand. Girl threw themselves at him, hands raking for inches of skin. Boys and grown men wanted to be him, have his life, hold the girls he held. He was the type of guy to runaway from... far.

"Hello, Mi," he said, trace of sensuality on his tongue. The use of her nickname irritated her.

"Hi." The dry, simple response back-tracked him. A look of confusion, and then, a look of "challenge accepted." She knew he saw her as a challenge, nothing more then a hard headed girl to break.

She walked away, treading into the hall and smiling. Victory. Guys like that had to be taught a lesson sometimes.


End file.
